


Little Toy Mouse

by knaveofmogadore



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Background Character Death, Depression, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Steampunk, background terminal illness, things work ok in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaveofmogadore/pseuds/knaveofmogadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a litle girls life through the eyes of a clockwork toy. Darla's life through the eye's of her mouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Toy Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> This story won me some awards at my school, so i wanted to share it with you. Hope you like it.

Once I was played with, once I was loved. There was once a time when my joints would move, a time when my springs would tighten. Then, I was just a bundle of parts on a dingy shelf in an old toy shop, held together by only thin metal plating. It was sad there, in the cold and dark, surrounded by those as broken and haunted as me. There were days that I wished I could move, so that I could move to the front of the shop with all the newer and prettier toys. Then there were days that I was glad I couldn’t, so I didn’t have to face any more disappointment, because I knew that no child would have ever wanted a toy as broken and twisted as me. I’d just been part of the shelf, or worse, a contamination. There was once a man, he came in and picked me up. He handled me, and tried to make me work again. Then he put me down, and said that I was beyond repair. That’s what hurts the most, you know, the false hope, the short relief that makes the longing so much worse. There had been a little boy once; he carried me all the way to the front desk, the front desk! I hadn’t been there since I was brought in all those years ago. His mother told him to put me back though; she said that I was too dirty. If I could have, I would have wailed. It wasn’t fair, being left all alone to rust. It’s not like I wanted to be perfect, I just wanted to be played with again.

Then, there was that day. A little girl came into the shop, wandered in the front for a while, and then came into the back. That alone made her different, almost nobody did. They preferred the new, pretty things, and I didn’t blame them. Picking up dust on her cutoff gloves her black boots were getting dingy just walking through the aisles, but she didn’t seem to mind. The strings on her short cargos were hanging, and her leather vest was rumpled over her blouse. Her goggles were crooked on her short cropped and ruffled up hair. She was looking around with a glimmer in her eyes. It was a glimmer of promise, appraisal, interest? She picked me up. She handled me gently, with a twinkle in her dark green eyes. She tested my joints, and I thought for sure she was going to put me down again. I don’t think I would have been able to bear that. Instead, she cupped me in her palms, and carried me all the way to the front desk. I watched as the shop keepers eyebrows quirked up, and he asked her if she was sure that I was what she wanted. I thought that then, and then she was going to put me back. Now, the false hope would crush me all over again. Instead, she smiled brighter, and nodded. I watched as I was gently set on the counter, and money exchanged hands. He asked her if she wanted a bag, she said no.

 

 

I was set snug into one of the pouches hanging from her belt. The ride was barely felt in my safe place, but I did hear many wonderful sounds. My favorite was the sound of the trolley we rode on, it had been such a long time since I heard it. There were so many people, talking and laughing and shouting. Id missed it; it had been so long since I had been surrounded by all that life. It had been heaven. The door to her house was creaky, and it smelled old. Her boots clicked on hard wood, then on creaky stairs. Another old, wooden door and a few things were moved around. She took me out and cradled me in her hands for a moment, a soft smile on her lips and a twinkling in her eyes. I was set on the desk lightly, unable to move while surrounded by spare parts. She pulled up a chair and set her elbows on the work bench, starring at me, seeming to think. Finally, she picked up a screwdriver. She pushed the spare parts to a corner, and then set to work.

It’s a strange thing, being separated from the rest of yourself, having all of your insides taken out and set for the world to see. It makes you feel more than naked, more than bared, almost like being unmade, and having all your memories, all your experiences played in sequence for everybody to judge. It’s a detached feeling, numbness, and it had been very unpleasant. It’s terrifying, the thought of never being whole again. At least when I had been broken, I had had all of my parts. She took hours, to clean each and every one of my pieces, and to fix all the cracks. The girl got up, and there was a moment of true terror, when I thought she would leave me there, bared as I was. She came back with a can full of something black and slick. She put me back together, lovingly, piece by piece. The feeling of wholeness and relief was almost overwhelming.

It was curious, not having my key stuck in my back anymore, to be able to see it before me. It had been a relief, yes, for it to be gone. Also, though, there was an ache where it was supposed to be. It was one of my pieces, after all. But oh, the joy it had been to be able to move again. She ran her finger across my head, and then picked up the key. The feeling of my springs tightening and clicking made me feel like I was truly alive. Then, I moved, rolling across that table top was one of the happiest moments of my life. It felt so wonderful to be played with again. I think that I made her laugh.

She took to me her room, and that’s when it really sunk in, I think. When it sunk in that I was going to get to stay. Her house was nice, all plush carpets and richly colored walls. Her room was amazing. All sorts of shelves covered the walls, little trinkets hung from the ceiling. There was another cluttered desk, and a bed covered in mangled blankets. Her wallpaper was dark colored roses, with hardwood floors. The shelves were filled with clocks, mementoes and other clockwork toys. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, and the whole place had a feel of laughter and happy memories. I was set on a shelf next to a glass stone and a chipper little automaton. I truly do not think I shall ever feel that safe again.

I was played with for many years after that. Her name was Darla, I remember that now. I can’t believe I ever forgot, I guess it’s been so long. Darla was quiet, but happy, always working on something. She had a friend, his name was Edwin. He always asked to play with me, just once please? Edwin made her laugh, and smile, and talk. Darla never talked to anyone, not her mother, not her father, no, not even her sister, just Edwin.

I hated her sister; she always had this look on her face. She had her nose so high in the air, it’s like she would drown in the rain. She was all frilly dresses and fancy hats and petticoats. I think her name was Elizabeth. There was always an air of disdain around her, the temperature always dropped when she walked into the room. She didn’t like Edwin much; I think she was just jealous. It’s just that the two sisters didn’t have that much in common. Where Elizabeth had carefully painted face and molded long curls, there was Darla’s wild style.

They used to argue all the time, and sometimes the fights were really bad. Mostly, the fights were just Elizabeth yelling, and Darla giving her looks that meant so much more than words. Then I remember when Elizabeth got sick. The house, which had been so full of laughter and life, went so cold and dark, and silent. Edwin moved in with them then, moving into the guest room. No one cared enough anymore to worry about how indecent it was. Darla stopped talking to even Edwin. She just cried a lot, and he sat with her for hours on end, just holding her while she shook. That was worse even than all those years in the toy shop. It was horrible, watching the one who fixed me turn into something just as broken as I had been. Then the day had come, when the slow decline was finally over. Elizabeth had stopped suffering. Darla stopped leaving her room, and Edwin still stayed with her.

A few months had passed, and things had not gotten much better. At last, once a layer of dust had settled, Edwin helped Darla clean her room. He found me on the shelf, dusted me off, and smiled at Darla with me cupped in his hands. They wound me up a couple of times and watched me move across the desk. They smiled and giggled amongst themselves. It felt good to hear her laugh again. Things got better after that. Darla got out of her room more, and she started working on things again. She and Edwin will go on long walks together; I watched them from the windowsill. He always made her so happy, in a different way than anyone else could. I wonder if that’s what love looks like.

 

 

 

A few years passed, and I was still played with. I think I had become their special thing. Everyone kept talking about some special day. All I knew is that Darla and Edwin had been so much more affectionate, and it filled the house with warmth. Darla had been moved to a bigger room, and I had my special place on the windowsill. I had a nice view of the garden, and I watched the happiest part of her day, those walks with Edwin, and it warmed my gears too. There had been a big fuss about a white dress and how Darla wouldn’t grow out her hair. I thought she looked pretty enough. I watched on the day Darla put on that dress for the last time, and as they set up the pavilion in the garden. I watched her say her vows to Edwin in his tux, and I watched them kiss under that big white canopy. Things had changed after that, but for the better.

I remember being moved into an even bigger room, the last one became her workshop. The shelves in this room were still filled with her projects. The walls in this room were also filled with artwork, Edwin liked to paint, and he was good at it. There was a four poster bed, a vanity, and yes, a desk. They had a balcony then, I could see it from my place on the vanity. They still had a wonderful view of the garden. There was talk of a child then, and Darla has grown big and round. She glowed, like summer. Then came that day, there was a lot of noise, and running, and panic. Edwin fretted a lot, going in and out of the room until he was confined there. He wound me up a lot that day. I think he was really worried. They let Edwin leave after a few hours, and a bed was moved in. it was small, white, with frilly lace trimmings and plush blankets under a canopy. The mobile was of several tiny mice, in different poses, and was run by clockwork. A baby slept with them, that night. Her name was Elizabeth.

She never cried, never fussed unless she was hungry. She had Darla’s eyes and dark hair, Edwin’s petite nose and crooked smile. She fell a lot while she was learning to walk, and she always got her dresses dirty. She got that from her mother, I’m sure. Elizabeth didn’t talk much, either. I think she got that from her mother, too. Once she got old enough, she played with me also. Edwin stopped trying with the dresses and let her wear what she wanted. I think she stole some of her dad’s old clothes. She wore all his old waist coats and held her hair up with green ribbon, like her eyes.

Eventually, Elizabeth grew up and fell in love just like her mother. All the while, Darla was getting older day by day. By the time Elizabeth moved out with her husband, Darla was showing her age. She still stayed so happy. I still stayed her and Edwin’s special thing. Then, Darla got sick. Elizabeth moved back into the house, dragging her husband with her. Even near the end though, Darla filled the place with warmth. She played with me the day before she was gone. “Little mouse”, she said to me, “you will be with this family forever, and I hope you never forget everything you’ve seen, so that others will remember. You will tell your story one day.”

The next day, she was gone. Edwin passed a short while after she did. He died from heartbreak, they said. Elizabeth moved all her mother’s things up into the attic after that. She had no use for her mother’s tools, and all her things just brought back so many memories. They caused her pain, so she moved them out of sight.

So, dear doll that is how I sit with you on this shelf today. I’m sorry if I was mean about Elizabeth, but she and Darla’s fights truly were dreadful. When you asked how I was here, I guess you didn’t think I would talk so much. Oh well, at least someone got to listen to my memories. Oh, there is that boy again, the one with the dark hair and green eyes, and the tool belt. That used to be Darla’s, you know. He dresses a lot like Darla, too, don’t you think? Well, I guess you wouldn’t really know, would you. Look, here he comes. Maybe he’ll wind me up like he did yesterday. It feels so wonderful to be picked up again. Well, farewell, little doll. Perhaps you will get played with again too, someday.

“Edwin, come down here! You’re in that attic too much!”

 

 

Farewell


End file.
